


Not Hating You, Not at All

by lowstandards



Series: Finding Family [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowstandards/pseuds/lowstandards
Summary: Despite either of their intentions, Anakin and Obi-Wan connect during a hectic holiday with Anakin’s family. A year later, they celebrate their first Christmas together.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Finding Family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057214
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Not Hating You, Not at All

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, part 2! It’s not much but :)  
> I wanted to keep it kinda short and sweet. (My longer modern AU has yet to come ;) )  
> I changed the rating on Generosity of Spirit from M to T, but this one is still E :)

Anakin thrived on lazy days. He didn’t used to— no, once upon a time he preferred all energy all action all the time. But recently (in the past year more specifically) he came to appreciate laziness. Comfort and slow mornings and lying around instead of finding a million things to busy his hands with and complain about. Though he did at least get out of bed, if only to move to the couch. He sat comfortably in sweats and warm socks and an old college sweatshirt, then wrapped himself further still in a blanket. His hands were barely freed enough to access the laptop propped up on his knees. Just peeping out enough to reach the trackpad, his fingers scrolled slowly down a page. He didn’t even know how long he sat like this, scrolling and gazing until his eyes almost felt like they would burn out of his head. 

He was too comfortable to startle when the front door shut, and he kept sliding along the screen with a very singular and hazy focus that really put nothing towards what he was _supposed_ to accomplish. 

And speaking of things he was supposed to do—

Obi-Wan hummed over Anakin’s shoulder, bending to peer down at the screen. He hovered, eying each item with probably more attention than Anakin gave, and finally mused “Decided not to unpack today afterall?” Together they stared at the cardboard boxes nicely and unmovingly stacked in the corner- exactly as they stayed for weeks now. 

Anakin sank deeper into the couch cushions and sighed “Nope” with particular emphasis on the p. Obi-Wan’s warmth disappeared from over him and then the whole of him reappeared, coming around the couch and then he left again. Anakin resumed his mindless mission, paying a little more attention to the comforting noises of Obi-Wan setting his things down, taking his coat off, two thumps for each shoe removed, and all the other casual and normal signs of returning to and filling this space. 

Their space, _together_ , still belonging to both of them even if Anakin neglected to unpack the boxes of belongings that would slide the last details into place. It was still theirs without all the things, even if it were completely empty, that fact and that feeling could not be changed. 

In the kitchen, the electric kettle clicked as it started. When Obi-Wan next returned, he held a hot mug of tea in his hands and all his outerwear had been removed so he, much like Anakin, was ever the image of comfort and domesticity. Wordlessly he nudged Anakin to allow them both to share the space on the couch. Anakin still stared blankly at his screen, finally shocked out of his dazing when Obi-Wan’s cold foot touched the barest strip of exposed skin from where his shirt rode up. 

“Don’t squirm like that, you’ll make me spill my tea!” He held it higher, as if to protect it from Anakin’s flailing limbs. 

“Move your foot! How _dare_ you—“ Anakin tried to sink into the couch to escape, piling the blankets up around him to make sure Obi-Wan and his invasive, frigid limbs couldn’t make their way in. The laptop careened and almost toppled to the floor, but Anakin managed to keep it balanced on his knees. It remained perched there impractically just so he could spitefully remain bundled. 

“Now darling, that’s hardly fair.” Obi-Wan set his drink down, unwilling to risk it. He made a show of rubbing his hands warmer and then snaked them under the blanket so they might share. Anakin’s body, despite being perpetually cold, ran like a furnace and he exuded a constant heat that Obi-Wan sought out. “Are you still looking for Ahsoka’s gift?” Obi-Wan refused to pull away from Anakin’s squirming. 

“Yes,” Anakin sighed and finally allowed Obi-Wan to curl close. “I know it’s last minute, but I didn’t want to bother you trying to get ideas. You’ve been busy so I sort of let it slip” They’d _both_ been busy the past weeks. Anakin wrapped up work so he could have the holidays off. Somehow though, in the mess of buying everyone’s gifts, he thought he had Ahsoka taken care of but discovered very late that he screwed up. “But we’ll still have plenty of time to run by a store on the way to my parents.”

Obi-Wan hummed again in agreement. “We can try to find that red sweater,” he eyed it on the screen then scooted to pull Anakin’s laptop away. “There you go, all taken care of. It wasn’t that complicated, Anakin.” From under his hands, Anakin gave a humorless laugh. With the laptop out of the way, they laid together just the two of them, Obi-Wan still seeking heat and Anakin reluctantly letting him claim it. “And I assume you didn’t pack for that either?”

“It’s a lazy day.” Anakin deadpanned. 

“For some of us.” Obi-Wan shifted to fit his face in the crook of Anakin’s neck. Even his nose was cold. The press of it chilled Anakin though the familiar beard scratch and puff of Obi-Wan’s breath sent warmth curling through him. Anakin’s stomach swooped with poorly restrained excitement at just the barest of touches from Obi-Wan. After a year and still his blood simmered and sparked under any attention from him. He not so subtly sought out Obi-Wan’s side, finding the thick knit of his sweater and worked his way under it so he could splay his much warmer fingers against Obi-Wan’s skin. 

“And how was your day? Did you ace your finals— blow all your professors away?” Anakin grinned lazily. He felt Obi-Wan start to press a slow string of kisses along his throat and he eagerly shifted to invite him closer. They moved seamlessly, so Obi-Wan slotted between Anakin’s enticingly spread thighs. 

“Not at all—“ his voice pitched lower, a teasing ripple along Anakin’s nerves. He answered between open mouthed sucks, traveling lower and seeking the divinity hidden under Anakin’s all too modest sweatshirt. Really it wasn’t Anakin’s sweatshirt, it was Obi-Wan’s from his first foray into college. When the weather dipped Anakin quickly claimed as much of Obi-Wan’s winter wardrobe as he could get away with. And Obi-Wan didn’t mind, not even a little. He reveled in it, a sight so simple as Anakin in his clothes, comfortable and content. Though in this case it did rather impede his desire to explore each plane and crevice of golden skin that led down from Anakin’s throat. “Actually, I may have failed all of my courses.” 

The whole reason they knew each other was because Obi-Wan met Padmé in this finance job that drained the life out of him, and finally he decided to leave it. He always knew he’d rather do anything than _that_ for the rest of his life. It just took a final push, a final realization he needn’t settle in things that left him unhappy and unsatisfied. So he left and went back to school. He announced it to Anakin quite dramatically, nervous and terrified and wringing his hands (not really, but Anakin liked to tell it that way). He announced “I’m quitting my job.” and Anakin stopped, blinked, and said “cool” (again, an embellishment on Anakin’s part to sound aloof. In reality he cheered and begged that Obi-Wan tell him all his future plans). And then they sat down and Obi-Wan confessed he wanted to teach, teach English specifically, maybe to high school but he wasn’t sure yet. Anakin considered it a definite upgrade since “dating a sexy English teacher is way cooler than dating a … accountant?” (it did not help that he hardly remembered Obi-Wan’s former job in the first place). 

“All of them? What a shame.” Anakin barely tried to sound teasingly understanding, words tumbling out in a breathy moan. Besides, he wasn’t worried at all— he knew Obi-Wan was full of shit and did brilliantly, as always. More than just acing his classes, Anakin knew Obi-Wan _loved_ them and didn't regret his sudden career change at all, and that’s what really mattered. 

“Isn’t it?” Obi-Wan mused, just as noncommittal. 

“Your hands are still cold,” Anakin whined, shuddering with the creeping chill touch of Obi-Wan’s fingers sneaking along his waist. 

“You say that like I’m keeping them that way on purpose.”

“I think you are.”

Obi-Wan slid his hands slowly up the span of Anakin’s skin, feeling the chills caused by his own touch. He grinned, leaving a final nip against Anakin’s throat before pulling back. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to find someone to warm me up.” 

Anakin threw his head back, laughing and gleefully pulled Obi-Wan’s lips to his. It was ridiculous and cheesy, and Anakin loved him for it. Obi-Wan smiled too so their teeth clacked. He tried to prop himself above Anakin but his hand got caught in the blanket and he inelegantly yanked his arm free. “Just come here—“ Anakin teased. His fingers slid into Obi-Wan’s hair, musing it out of its orderly part so he could guide their bodies back together. Resting a hand on the arm of the couch behind Anakin’s head, Obi-Wan finally leaned over him, hungrily and thankfully kissing properly, letting their hips slot together too. 

Anakin thrived on lazy days, and on this too— the slow friction of their bodies together, with no urgency, just a kindling pleasure. Obi-Wan kissed him gently and inviting until Anakin sank pliant and content under him. And Anakin pulled Obi-Wan in to share his warmth until heat waved and spread between them both equally. Obi-Wan hiked one of Anakin’s comfortably clad legs higher up and he groaned rolling into it, a delicious grind of both of their growing arousal. 

Obi-Wan yanked down Anakin’s pants enough for the waistband to cut into the meat of his thighs— and Anakin arched, moaning with the rush of colder air against his too-hot skin. “Come to bed,” Obi-Wan’s darkened eyes followed every slight movement, begging more than his words revealed. They pleaded to let them go together, let him take Anakin apart slowly; they had the rest of the day to lay with one another and he wanted to sink into it as luxuriously as possible. 

“No—“ Anakin tightened his thighs around Obi-Wan and kept them both perfectly where they were. “Right here.” He nodded, breathless and heady, pupils blown. A lazy and self-satisfied grin stretched on his face. He wanted this here, where they already were, where he was already comfortable. Every part of this home was theirs, irrevocably, and he was as happy and eager here as he would be in their bed. No, he wanted Obi-Wan like this. 

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan laughed, incredulous and fond, “We’d be much better _prepared_ if you’d let us go to the bedroom.” He raised his eyebrows and spoke pointedly. His hand ran down the plane of Anakin’s side to caress the fold where thigh and hip meet. Under his touch, Anakin’s skin prickled and warmed, shivering with the teasing, inching pressure. 

“No, we can do it right here—“ his voice came out a whine. Trying to keep him from pulling away, he fisted his hands in Obi-Wan’s sweater and tugged him closer. 

“ _Anakin_ —“

With tremendous reluctance, Anakin moved. Obi-Wan anticipated pulling him to his feet or just carrying him bridal style to their bed, but as soon as those plans solidified in his mind, Anakin re-anchored them on the couch. He swapped their positions, now straddling Obi-Wan’s thighs, spread invitingly wide as per usual. Shifting down, their hips slotted together again; Anakin earned friction-heady moans from them in unison. He grunted into the curve of Obi-Wan’s neck, pleading again that _right here_ was perfect. 

And fucks sake how Obi-Wan wanted it to be— Anakin looking half debauched already, hair in disarray and face red, eyes darkened nearly black from his blown pupils. Of course Obi-Wan wanted this and didn’t need the heavy weight of his cock to make it even more painfully obvious. But he wouldn’t fuck Anakin unprepared, no amount of rampant desire would make him ever ignore something as simple as that. 

“I won’t hurt you, dear one.” Carding fingers through those honey golden curls, he tried again to soothe Anakin into getting up. Once more he failed. 

Anakin pulled back, a bemused yet irritated expression marring his face, “You’re so proper and polite and it’s annoying.” Before Obi-Wan could do much more than shoot his eyebrows up in offense, Anakin (keeping Obi-Wan firmly in place with a hand hard on his chest) jerked open the drawer of their cheap little end table. Mumbling “as if I don’t have every room stocked,” he sat straight up again, now brandishing a neat little packet of lube. 

Obi-Wan sucked in his lower lip, trying not to smile. “When on earth did you put that there— you stocked _every_ _room_?”

Mischief sparkled in Anakin’s sea storm darkened eyes, “It’s the first and only thing I unpacked.” He gleefully wiggled out of his pants and boxers, not willing to let Obi-Wan keep taking his time about this. “So, no more excuses as to why you can’t fuck me right here.”

Anakin grinned, mouth stretching wide and delightful. He didn’t need to play at being coy or seductive or subtle (and he rarely did well at playfully flirting even when he _was_ trying) for Obi-Wan to serve him everything he wanted on a silver platter. Obi-Wan leaned in for a brief but promising kiss. Anakin eagerly let him in, craving the slick slide of their tongues, and the rub of Obi-Wan’s beard against his chin— he wanted it hungry and rewarding. 

But Obi-Wan pulled back, still incredulous, “Anakin, you prioritized _this_ while all your dishes and half your clothes are still shut up in _boxes_?”

Anakin groaned. Obi-Wan’s hands fitting over the exposed skin of his hips brought none of the relief he desired. Usually things were the other way around, Obi-Wan trying to get _him_ to shut up by fucking into him, a proven method of silencing Anakin Skywalker. But this time Anakin cooperated beautifully and _Obi-Wan_ digressed. 

It was like he didn’t even _want_ to have sex— which so very clearly not true. The warmth on his face, the gentle and melted look in his hazy eyes, and most of all the promising bulge of his pants proved otherwise. 

So, determined as ever, Anakin took what he wanted. 

Slapping the lubricant into Obi-Wan’s hand, he easily undid the buckle of his ridiculously reluctant partner’s belt. Obi-Wan hissed under the barest friction and pressure when Anakin finally shoved his pants down as much as they could go before being stopped by the spread of his thighs. And at least there, Obi-Wan aided a little by rolling his hips up. Some new complaint prepared itself on his lips but Anakin cut it off and he never voiced it. Instead a groan strangled out, the response to Anakin rocking their exposed cocks together. Sheer bliss— Anakin already felt the familiar aching stretch just from straddling the wide set of Obi-Wan’s lap and the thought of how delightfully it would burn to take him here made him bite back a moan. 

Shifting back on his thighs, Anakin made quite the display of himself; he watched Obi-Wan intently as he slid a first slick finger into himself. Their breaths strung out in tandem. Anakin’s “ _oh_ ” came out pleased and anticipatory, and Obi-Wan’s “ _oh_ ” sounded punched out and low. 

“Dear one, have you waited all day for this?” He marveled at Anakin’s brilliance, his determination and the luxuriant expanse of his throat. It rose and fell with each gasping breath. 

Anakin nodded, words evaded him for a moment. He had— waited for Obi-Wan, wanting him always. Even if desire didn’t present itself at the forefront of his thoughts, it still lingered in the back, constant and unsatiated. 

“Almost did this bit earlier—“ he worked a second finger in and the angle did wonders. Before cozying himself up on the couch he considered it, opening himself up with thoughts of Obi-Wan, lazy and blissed out. He ended up deciding against it and— well, this was the result of his pent up fantasy. 

“Let me guess,” Obi-Wan paused until their gazes locked. He waited until Anakin’s glassy eyes met his to finally touch him. What a rewarding pressure it was— Obi-Wan slipped his hand between spread thighs so the next finger soothing Anakin open was his own. “You were too lazy to do it yourself?”

Rocking down onto Obi-Wan’s hand, Anakin grinned winningly. “Always.” Anakin’s proud and teasing looks couldn’t possibly have found a better home than Obi-Wan’s ever indulgent charm. He tried to say it like he’s bored, but a whimper betrayed him. A challenge flamed in both their eyes. 

The fire invited, so when Obi-Wan (finally) pushed in, Anakin accepted, willing and open, arching into it. Both pliant and eager, he molded to each touch, to each perfect stuttering jerk of Obi-Wan’s hips. They were one being, one undulating wave and cascading cosmos. 

They came apart in the same shuddering cries. Anakin’s lips part around soundless moans. Of all things, Obi-Wan laughed. The same free and rough laugh that made Anakin’s gut do somersaults when they met, when he tried desperately to hate him. 

Breathless, he panted against Obi-Wan’s neck. He slumped, no longer interested in holding himself upright. “Mmm— Why are you laughing?”

Obi-Wan pressed open kisses to Anakin’s face, to his cheek and throat and the sweat damp skin above the collar of his sweatshirt— anything in his reach. “Because of you, my dear _Anakin_.” He said his name that special way again, a golden and curling purr. Warm and spiced and elegant. If Anakin weren’t sated it would make him stir with interest again. 

“What are you? Like, in love with me or something?”

“Unfortunately, I believe that may be the case.”

Anakin hummed. Despite the need to move and clean up, he remained blissfully and inconveniently comfortable in Obi-Wan’s lap. They both knew at any attempt to move, he would burrow and anchor them in even more. Resigned to this fate, Obi-Wan brushed stray hair from his lover’s face. “That’s good,” Anakin mused. “Good for _me_ , I guess. For _you…_ well you’re pretty much stuck with me now.”

“And there’s nothing I can do about that, is there?”

Obi-Wan felt the lips smiling against the curve of his neck. “Nope, nothing at all.” 

-

Anakin’s station wagon rumbled to an unimpressive halt, snow crunched under the wheels. He practically leapt out of the car. Obi-Wan stepped out of the passenger side at a much more sensible but disoriented pace. He chastised “There was really no need to push 60 miles an hour in a _residential neighborhood_.”

Anakin swung the back door open and all his belongings, jostled around by his reckless driving, crashed out of the car and into the snow. 

“I’m driving next time, and it isn’t up for debate.”

“But—“

“You have no say in this.”

Anakin squawked weak arguments the entire way into the house until Obi-Wan shut him up with a kiss (both their lips were cold so it wasn’t very breathtaking). 

Shmi appeared and didn’t care at all for her son’s petulant glowering. “My boys!” She cheered, clapping both hands around their faces and delivering quick pecks on foreheads (which of course required Anakin stoop to her height).

“Obi-Wan,” she quite seriously redirected all her attention to him. “I know last year you planned to make breakfast for us and… well that didn’t work out. I tried to remember and I think I got everything so you can treat us properly this year.”

“I’d be delighted.” He smiled softly, pulling off his coat. Shmi, in all her overjoyed enthusiasm, still barely let them set foot in the house before welcoming them. They both shimmied out of coats and scarves and shoes (it took Obi-Wan’s frequent lecturing to get Anakin, after a lifetime of not doing so, to finally dress appropriately for the cold).

“Where’s everyone else?” Anakin asked.

“In the family room, they’re stringing up the lights.” She ushered them in, and just about everyone else was there. “You two were last to get here,” she grinned. Ahsoka predicted that would be the case weeks ago and Anakin insisted he wouldn’t be last. 

“Satine and Padmé—“ he tried to argue but Ahsoka proudly cut him off. 

“Got here yesterday, they left to get groceries an hour ago.” So Anakin was indeed, as always, last. 

Sabé stood on a step ladder, diligently tucking lights into the tree while Qui-Gon kept staring and tilting his head to determine if it was straight (it was not). Ahsoka at his side kept insisting it was perfect (again, it was not) until they stepped back and he said “Yes, what a beautiful tree,” (it clearly leaned to the left but not to a worrying degree). 

“Hello there, young sir.” Obi-Wan’s voice came out gentle and cautious. While Anakin stood getting berated for his predictable tardiness, of course Obi-Wan found his way to the children. Luke showed him the ornaments he made in school and where he wanted to put them on the tree, and Leia showed him the two gaps in her mouth from her recently lost teeth. And of course, Barriss held the newest addition: a baby with a shockingly light head of hair and watchful brown eyes. Noting Anakin’s excited look, she nodded, “You can hold him in a second,” and passed the child to Obi-Wan first. 

Anakin contented in just to watching Obi-Wan though— watching the way this child, his _nephew,_ reached out and grasped Obi-Wan’s finger. It was music to Anakin to hear the man’s voice softly speak. “Hello little Rex.” And those great wide eyes just followed everything, and he smiled a little in the brilliant and infectious way that babies do. 

Barriss and Ahsoka only finalized the adoption some months before, but this was the first chance either Obi-Wan or Anakin had to meet him. And looking at him, Anakin’s heart just melted. “Oh, yeah, I absolutely love him.”

“Anakin, you cannot steal my son.”

Shmi returned, Satine and Padmé following behind her with cheeks rosy from the cold. Anakin greeted them both, and for one of the first times, Padmé didn’t look sheepish. After last year’s spectacle, it took quite a few months for Padmé’s embarrassment to wear thin. It was magnified not only by admitting her long standing love for Satine, but seeing (most baffling of all) that _Anakin_ was completely infatuated with Obi-Wan. And that took lots of explaining. No one in the family - or anywhere - was so dense to not know where Padmé’s affections lay, but the matter with Anakin made him the butt of even more jokes. Really, did he have no decency to crush on Padmé’s supposed boyfriend? The answer, obviously, was no. Anakin Skywalker had no decency at all. Now though, the mortification of it melted into the past. Padmé opened her arms wide to embrace Anakin, then quickly abandoned him to coo at her nephew. 

“Oh, let me hold him,” she tried to steal him away from Obi-Wan’s arms while Satine watched her fondly. That took time too, that particular openness in their relationship. Even then, sometimes Satine or Padmé still fell into a pattern of being more than private, but it no longer stemmed from shame or overwhelming anxiety.

Anakin groaned, swatting at her side as Obi-Wan obediently handed the gurgling infant over to her, and not to his desperately waiting partner. The child did not seem bothered by the surplus of attention in the slightest. Rather than cry or fuss, he reached for new hands and faces eagerly, bright eyes always watching. 

“Wonderful,” Qui-Gon clapped his hands together and surveyed his family. They all stood around the tree, a semicircle audience. “Are we ready?” He asked and Luke hopped forward. 

“Can I do it?” He bounced between his feet and Qui-Gon indulgently crouched by his son. He picked up a power cord and together they held it in their hands. Qui-Gon plugged it in and let Luke flick the switch. Their tree came to life. It glowed, ready to be filled with ornaments, and Luke cheered. 

He started handing them out, him and Leia pointing and organizing the affair beautifully (not really, the tree looked completely lopsided, but it was perfect and Shmi wouldn’t change a thing). Satine kissed Padmé’s cheek as Leia grabbed her hand and made her help reach up high. 

“I’m going to the kitchen for a minute.” Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin’s hand and slipped behind him. His lips tightened as he left, a face as neutral and not revealing as ever. Anakin might have been bothered by it if it weren’t for the array. On all their furniture, the ornaments and boxes sat out, on display and accessible. Qui-Gon and Shmi moved aside, watching more than helping, and glad to do so. Anakin let the twins direct him around. 

“No, not _there_ —“ Leia whined and pointed again to the exact same spot where Anakin’s hand hovered. He moved it a little to the left. She shook her head. He tried again until she finally agreed. “It only took you six tries.”

Anakin sighed and looked at the abundance of ornaments; it was exhausting enough for her to lead him through just the one. 

“It’s like you’ve never done this before,” Ahsoka ribbed. She had Luke telling her what to do, and he was much more lenient.

“Would you like to trade places?”

“No thank you.” Ahsoka shook her head, gladly placing decorations as randomly and wonderfully as Luke instructed. “Did you scare Obi-Wan off?”

Anakin hummed and looked towards the kitchen door. “Yeah. He ran off and joined the circus.”

She nodded sagely. “Better circus. Fewer clowns.” 

Leia stood at the ready, handing him another ornament. “I’ll be right back— give me a second and then you can boss me around again,” Anakin bowed out. His sister crossed her arms, but let him go. She had plans for him later. There were days of planning (or torment, rather) left in store and with age Leia only grew more stubborn and more particular. Passing her by, he mused her hair and she squirmed away from him. 

Anakin went back to the kitchen. The door creaked when it swung behind him. Obi-Wan stood by the counter, his hip propped against it. He did nothing, but leaned near the kettle, where perhaps he heated water then let it go ignored in his brooding. “Hello there,” Anakin slid up next to him. He spotted the familiar crease mar Obi-Wan’s brow. Gently he reached a hand and smoothed the lines of his face. “Is something wrong?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Anakin watched whatever thoughts burdened him retreat. His face eased, each concern softening away bit by bit. “Not at all,” he finally responded and met Anakin’s searching look. “Actually, I think I’ve never been happier.” And it was true. He felt it like a great thing welling up inside him like he’d never experienced before. He almost didn’t know what to do with it. Fitting his hand over one of Anakin’s hands still caressing his cheek, Obi-Wan leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Mmm, just remember you say that now—“ Anakin yawned and hugged Obi-Wan to his side. “But after this there's even more decorations and lights. And then we have to wrap presents and, of course, bake cookies.” Anakin said it ominously— the _dreaded_ holiday baking. Obi-Wan chuckled. Little Leia with her stirring spoon wielded like a sword— he looked forward to it already. 

Obi-Wan traced Anakin’s forearm all the way from elbow to wrist and back up again. Slow and meditative, he could spend all day like this. His whole life too. “So long as you don’t knock me under a table this year, I think I’ll manage.” 

Anakin hummed, not committed, not promising, and utterly perfect. “No promises. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It means so much that any of you have read and enjoyed this!!  
> Please come yell at me on [tumblr](https://lowstandards.tumblr.com)


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